A Second Chance
by Melodious329
Summary: Mac is out of town and Methos is kidnapped as bait. DM/M slash


A Second Chance

Takes place after end of series

Mac needed to get away for a while. He wanted to go someplace he hadn't been and had ended up in Charleston, SC. The South had always conjured up some mixed feelings for him, after he had worked on the Underground Railroad, but maybe that was why he came. The people there were so warm, so full of life and hospitality. They clung to the idea of the South before the war despite the slavery. In a lot of ways the South was not so much different than sixteenth century Scotland, they understood duty and loyalty. All that goodness despite slavery, kind of like Methos…

That was what that night had really taught him, that the good of his life was not to be found in some epic battle, but in the lives of his friends and companions. But Methos…It was strange not to trust someone who in the end had done nothing but stick his neck out for you. His brain was conflicted but his heart; his heart //knew// Methos…and his body wanted him. It had been a long time since they had openly flirted though. Perhaps all of these revelations were too late, but even as he thought that he knew it wasn't true. Methos had always been there when he needed him, disappearing when he needed him not to be there, the damn fool knew him better than he knew himself. And there was that damn song on the radio again:

Some people are lucky like us

Some people they just give up

When the hard times fall,

The thrill of it all is gone

Leaves you in cloud of dust

It's sad to think that some won't find it

And others won't recognize it even when it comes

We're all at the mercy of the will of love

Some people are lucky like us

He had to laugh to himself, "I'm at his mercy alright, and I can't not try."

Meanwhile in Paris, Methos had returned to the barge. He was in town and Joe had given him the key so he wouldn't need a hotel. He had always felt weird being there when Mac wasn't, like he was trying to steal the intimacy that wasn't given. He certainly couldn't think of anything else but the Highlander while there. "Who knew I was such masochist," he sighed to himself as he walked up the gangplank. He gave that man everything because he couldn't possibly do anything different. He would always be there for Mac even when the man hated him.

For a second Methos thought that the pain in his chest really was his heart breaking, but then a man was standing over him saying, "Welcome home honey." The man was mortal and had been watching the barge for weeks. The tall lanky man had been seen with the target, Duncan MacLeod, who had since disappeared. The unknown man acted like he lived there, even in Duncan's absence. "Who knew the man was gay," the attacker thought as he dragged the dead form to his car wrapped in a tarp. But when MacLeod found his lover gone, he would come. He snickered quietly. After MacLeod finds out what we've done with his lover; he'll do anything we ask. In the distance an immortal supervised the proceedings.

Joe hadn't seen Methos in a couple of days, so he stopped by the barge. There was a package in a brown envelope waiting. All that was on it was Mac's name. He hated to snoop but it might be important, and if he admitted it to himself, snooping was what he was supposed to be doing. It was a tape.

He listened to it later in the bar's office. He had found Methos's stuff still on the barge; maybe the man was just busy. "Yeah," he chuckled to himself, "too busy for beer, that'll be the day." He only listened to the tape for a minute before he was on the phone to Mac.

Mac picked up the phone beside his bed, having been roused from dreamland. It had been a very good dream too, he sighed into the phone.

"Mac," Joe's voice was frantic. "Something's happened."

"So I gathered," Mac said.

"This tape was left at your barge, here listen"

Mac listened. A man's voice he didn't recognize came over. "Duncan MacLeod," it said. "I think I have something you want." The background noises became louder as the unknown man moved the recorder. Another voice was panting harshly; there was the slapping sound of wet skin against skin, then the sound of someone being slapped. "Speak," commanded the first voice. Nothing, and then the sound of more blows followed. Then the panting slowed and there was the unmistakable sound of bones breaking, probably a hip bone. A low groan came and Mac knew who the victim was. The panting resumed and the victim whimpered a few times in response before taking some deep breaths to control himself again. "Your lover has a very distinctive voice. I'm sure you heard all you need to know. We'll be in touch."

Joe's voice was back on the phone, "Mac its Methos. It sounded like…like" but the old man couldn't finished the sentence. Like he's being raped and tortured, Mac finished in his thoughts.

"I know, Joe," was all he said though. "I'm coming." As Mac hung up the phone, he couldn't help thinking of Cassandra, that maybe Methos deserved it. He shook his head to clear those thoughts. No, no one deserves it. The man was still trying to protect him. What Methos had been saying in that silence was loud and clear to Mac. Methos had been telling him not to come; he had been saying that he expected nothing from Mac.

Methos lay bound on a warehouse floor, trying to get his emotions in check. It had been a long time, since he had been raped. He didn't even want to think the words to describe what had happened. It made him feel out of control, and he was very used to being in control. The anger was threatening to prevent him from thinking. He had no idea how long he had been there, he was obviously below ground. He was also starving. They had not given him any food and the only water he got was the water that was poured on him occasionally, usually after he had died. Exsanguination was a fairly decent way to die if he didn't think of the cause. He was rarely left alone, there had to be at least four men taking shifts. Occasionally he would feel the tingling of another immortal but he hadn't seen one.

He shifted position. It was impossible to get comfortable with his hip bone out of place but he couldn't get any leverage to put it back in. So far the plan consisted of seeming too weak to be a threat, he knew how thin he looked already so it wasn't a stretch.

Mac looked around the barge, searching for evidence that Methos had been there. He loved the idea of the older immortal being at his place, even when he wasn't. It made him think how easy Methos became part of his life, how right it felt to come home to the man. He picked up a sweater and smelled it, almost crying when the thought came unbidden, that he might never see the old man again. He had spent the past week since he got back just waiting, waiting and thinking. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep for the nightmare of what they might be doing to Methos. Joe said that that's what they wanted, for him to be weak and defenseless, but he couldn't seem to pull himself together. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed out on something wonderful. Finally Joe called, "I've found something Mac."

Pretending to be weak wasn't a problem for Methos anymore. Finally they had left him unbound, after he had spent quality time in a box so small he hadn't been able to move, so dark he couldn't see anything. So far he had been raped to death about once a day either by a man or a stick, had been beaten, whipped, electrocuted (that was a new one to him), and cut to ribbons. Some of the techniques were actually quite old, must have come from the immortal he felt. The immortal was here today, it was almost show time. First he needed to put his hip back together, and manage to keep quiet while doing it.

Methos took out the two mortals who came down to torture him some more. He accomplished it easily, he did know things that couldn't be learned in books no matter what Joe or Mac thought. He searched for his Ivanhoe as he waited for the immortal to come down. He didn't find it, but he did find two suitable broadswords.

Mac and Joe reached the warehouse and approached cautiously. Mac had tried to get Joe to stay in the car, but the man was so stubborn. As they entered the first floor, they could hear the metallic kiss of steel coming from down the stairs. He hurried towards the sound only to find exactly what he was afraid of. The old man was fighting a very in shape man who appeared about thirty and of Asian descent. Methos looked like shit, pale and dangerously thin, blood and semen and just plain dirt the only things covering his naked flesh. And he couldn't interfere.

Joe had followed the Highlander downstairs, despite the difficulty that that presented. The scene before him struck him like one out of a movie, like a medieval torture room with two men battling in the middle. Methos couldn't possibly win, Joe thought as he removed his gun from his jacket pocket. Looking down at it he vainly tried to think rationally about what he should do, this wasn't a fair fight. He looked up in surprise to see the old man standing over his kidnapper who was on his knees, without his sword. He continued to stare disbelieving as the final blow came and the old man collapsed to take the quickening lying down. Mac also fell to his knees, he noted.

Mac crawled over to the older immortal as soon as the lightening had died away. He gathered the man up into his arms and cried. Big, fat tears that wrenched sobs out of his heavy frame, Mac cried out his fear and frustration, he cried for all the missed opportunities, all the misunderstandings, he cried for all that had been and the future that had been so nearly ripped away from him. And then he just sat there, crushing the other man to his chest. He would have been worried that he was hurting Methos, except that he had felt the other man go limp sometime during his crying. Joe had already gone upstairs by the time Mac, finally lifted the lanky form from the floor and carried him to the car.

He wrapped Methos in a blanket from the back of the SUV, and sat with him in the backseat, letting Joe drive them back to the barge. He refused to let go of the man even for a minute, even as he felt the other man regain consciousness.

Methos came to wrapped in a warm blanket, his face pressed rather tightly to Mac's now wet t-shirt. He didn't know what was up with the younger immortal, but frankly he didn't care. This felt too good. He even let himself be carried into the barge, when he could very well have walked. Once inside Mac sat with Methos still on his lap on the couch. Joe seemed to understand what was going on as he brought over a glass of water and gave it to Mac. Methos began to move inside the blanket, trying to get his arms to the surface to take the water. Mac just pressed the glass to his lips, holding it as he drank. Now he was beginning to feel suspicious.

Joe finally broke the silence. "Mac, do you want me to stay, help out." Mac just shook his head still refusing to speak. He also steadfastly refused to meet the jade and gold eyes of the man on his lap, instead listening to the rhythm of the mortal's steps as he left he barge. Finally as if in resignation, he put the now much thinner man on the couch and stood up.

"I'll get a bath going," he said. Methos wanted to tell him that he could do it, that he didn't need Mac's help, but he decided to see where this went. So he just stared after the other man as he went into the bathroom. Coming back into the room, Mac's eyes looked into his for the first time but Methos couldn't discern the look in those dark eyes. Was it resignation, compassion, pity? He could feel his anger rising again at the thought of Mac pitying him, but its movement was stilled somewhere in his chest as Mac reached a hand out to him. He rose out of the blanket and followed Mac to the bathroom, noticing that Mac did not let go of his hand even as he stepped into the hot water. In fact Mac kneeled down beside the tub. He opened his mouth to speak as Mac picked up the washcloth, but Mac's hand was there in an instant to silence him. The feel of Mac's soft thumb against his slightly parted lips, his fingers curling around his jaw, hit Methos like a cannon ball to the gut.

"Let me help you," Mac softly whispered, bringing his dark eyes up to Methos's wary green ones.

"This from someone who never accepts help," Methos couldn't bite back the retort, his eyes sliding from the Highlander's to the floor.

Mac's still soft laughter drew his eyes back up in a hurry though. He stared into those brown liquid eyes and saw…love. "Oh, I already lean on you a lot," Mac said as his eyes moved to look at the pale back that he was washing. Mac noticed that he was leaning forward in the washing and his eyes darted up to find himself inches from Methos's face which was gorgeously flushed from the heat of the bath. There was sweat beading the upper lip and Mac couldn't help himself. His lips touched the other man's gently, slowly opening the other man's mouth for a deeper kiss as his tongue darted out to taste of Methos's upper lip.

Mac drew away with a sharp gasp. "I'm so sorry, Methos. That's the last thing you need right now after…" He found he couldn't look at the other man suddenly.

"After I was raped," Methos finished harshly, his eyes darkening to a deeper green. "It's not like it was the first time." Mac's eyes came up to look at him. Mac couldn't help wondering…

"You're wondering if it happened before or after the horsemen," Methos laughed bitterly. "Both, Mac. An outsider, traveling mostly alone, I was lucky if I was only beaten and gang raped. Worse was being enslaved and being beaten and raped for years. It really was a different time back then. Slave or master but not playing was not an option." He took the washcloth out of Mac's loose hand and turned away, only to have Mac grip his jaw and turn him back.

Mac's hands were soft as they roamed over his face and hair, as if trying to memorize him and his eyes were liquid pools filled with such love that it literally brought Methos to tears. Methos could feel the tears running silently down his cheeks until he was forced to open his mouth to take a deeper but shaky breath. Mac took the opportunity to kiss him again. This time the kiss was full of desire, Mac's tongue thrust in deep, tickling the roof of Methos's mouth. When he pulled away, they were both sucking in deep mouthfuls of air, but Mac only moved far enough away to breathe, leaning his forehead against Methos's and continuing to grip his face. Methos found to his surprise that he was gripping Mac's forearms as well.

Finally Mac moved and looked deep into those beautiful hazel eyes that now shone with love and desire and fear. "I am thankful for whatever experiences have made you into the man you are now, because I love the man you are. I love you, Methos."

With those words, Methos broke down completely. Sobs shook his bony frame and long elegant fingers clutched at Mac, first his arms and then reaching around the other man's large shoulders. As the sobs quieted to trembling, Mac took the hands from around him and with a kiss laid them back in the water. He finished washing and then helped the other man to stand, drying him with a fluffy towel. He noted how the man continued his slight trembling, reminding Mac of how exhausted Methos probably was.

He guided them both over to the bed, intending for them both just to get some sleep, but Methos's hands entwined in his hair and his head was brought down to the other man's lips. The kiss was filled with need, Methos needed this, needed him no matter how tired he was. The knowledge permeated Mac's soul and he was overcome by a feeling that everything was going to be alright. He laid Methos down on the bed gently, marveling at the sight of the other man's exposed beauty. The older immortal was all long limbs and clearly defined muscles, his pale skin seemed to glow with an inner light as he lay on the dark green sheets. Mac undressed himself, feeling the other man's gaze on him. Mac knew that his body was beautiful but Methos was a true athlete, truly timeless. He was a contradiction. Mac knew that Methos was strong enough to help him with his load, but the innocence, the vulnerability in the oldest immortal…Mac had to close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he slowly crawled up Methos body, the older immortal's head already thrust back as Mac captured that long elegant neck with his lips. He kissed and sucked and bit and soothed his way down the other man's body, his attentions eliciting, soft moans and harsh in-draws of breath. Mac couldn't get enough of how responsive his lover was, his body was always arching up to meet him. But Mac was trying to say I'm sorry with every kiss, I'm sorry for what I've done to you, I'm sorry for what others have done to you, I'm sorry for what you've done, and I'm sorry for not doing this sooner. Looking up into Methos's eyes, Mac felt that his lover understood. Mac drew the other man's cock into his mouth, drawing it deep as far as he could stand and still it was not enough. Methos was incoherent with need now, but Mac felt hands on him, drawing him back up.

"Methos," Mac breathed. "Inside me, I need…" He couldn't finish, couldn't put into words all the things that he needed from this man, but right now he needed his cock.

Methos rose, pushing Mac up as well and moved behind him. He slid his knees in between Mac's, so that the bigger man was sitting on the still powerful thighs of the slighter man.

Methos breathed in the scent of his lover, his left arm going around the larger man as Mac's own hands gripped the headboard. Methos right hand slid over Mac's face as if he was smoothing away the other man's hair, which drew Mac's face around to him. His lips caressed the other man's face gently as his hands trailed down the olive skinned chest. His touch was light as he felt the other man's cock which jumped at his attentions. He let his hands trail lower to the sac for just a touch, just to feel him. He looked at the nightstand to see a bottle of lube already out, Mac had apparently been planning something like this. One long elegant finger was covered with it and then gently, very gently inserted. Mac nearly jumped off the bed. "Oh God, Methos, please, I need you." Methos murmured soothing words in many different languages, as his attention was still focused on inserting another finger without hurting the other man. He pushed in deep, pressing on the inner gland of his lover, who was desperately pushing back on his hand. Finally he withdrew his fingers, registering the low moan of his lover. He pushed both of them up from his knees, to position himself at his lover's opening. Reaching his arms around his lover's torso again, he pulled the larger man down on his cock.

"Oh gods above," he whispered against his lover's shoulder. Mac's body was draped over him, his back arched so his head was leaning against Methos's shoulder. He could feel Mac's breath tickling his ear. He could just sit here like this forever. His breath was wrenched from him however as Mac leaned forward. He began to move in and out of the Highlander's body, slow and steady.

"More, Methos more," gods Mac could hear the begging in his voice and he didn't care. Every thrust grazed his prostate and Mac couldn't help thinking that Methos's cock was made for this, made for him, made to fuck him. He would have laughed if he could have gotten enough air. Oh, gods, he could feel the tightening, he was going to come and he had never managed to let go of the headboards to touch himself. Methos hands were gripping his hips, possessing him, Methos's breath was hot on the back of his neck, he was drowning in the sensation of it as he came.

Mac's body jerked and Methos knew he was coming. He thrust hard once, twice before his own came, seemingly being milked from him by the powerful contractions of his lover. He brought his hands up, entwining them with his lover's, and just breathed for a moment before drawing the other man down onto the bed.

Mac let his head be cradled onto the man's chest, and helped the other man draw the blankets over them. He practically attached himself to the other man, suddenly afraid that he would disappear. He could hear Methos's beautiful voice soothing him, and he thought absently that their positions should be reversed considering the past week, but he contented himself by thinking of all the mothering that he would do the next morning, starting by feeding the poor man.

Joe saw them at the bar the next night. He couldn't help reaching out to touch the sharp cheeks of the older immortal but he did notice that they both seemed better. Much, much better he thought to himself. Thank God. He knew it wouldn't be easy, then again nothing was easy, but at least they were together and they were definitely happy. The laughter flowed that night more than the alcohol. Blast that damn sappy song on the radio again though…

//For a shield from the storm

For a friend

For the love to keep me safe and warm

I turn to you

For the strength to be strong

For the will to carry on

For everything you do

For everything that's true

I turn to you

When I lose

The will to win

I just reach for you

And I can reach the sky again

I can do

Anything

Cause your love is so amazing

That your love inspires me

And when I need a friend

You're always on my side

Giving me faith

And taking me through the night//


End file.
